


Emergence

by GypsyMoon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, Friendship, Gen, Memory, Reformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyMoon/pseuds/GypsyMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After fighting the constant ache of guilt; Steve is finally granted a second chance to restore the damage of his past. He knows it will be a harrowing process, but with a little faith and brotherly strength, he finds a way to bring a lost soldier home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

**_ _ **

**_All characters belong to Marvel Comics_ **

**_I own nothing_ **

**_{This story is dedicated to all the wonderful and talented fans.}_ **

* * *

_Emergence_

_{ Part 1}_

_'_ _Is my name James Buchanan Barnes?'_

It was a haunting grim question that gripped him to the bone. Of all the torment he endured in his lifetime; this one truly rare pang of agony that wedged the Winter Soldier's butchered heart into a clamping vise.

He had become a nameless wraith birthed into the molten pools of HYDRA's iron cauldron.  _Resurrected, nonetheless._

For three weeks, he'd been traveling unfamiliar streets; harboring onto languished, distorted memories that were scattered through the fractured recesses of his altered mind.

It had grown into an internal battle, an ongoing war to fight alone without the security of structured orders containing his savage and brutal impulses to hunt. He was plagued with detained glimpses of another lifetime. He felt the stirrings of the defiant ,honorable man that his superiors tried to bury with electronic pulses and ice, his true self grinding in search for release out of the imprisonment from the indestructible, unbeatable and intimating body.

_... The fist of HYDRA ..._

There was arising hope between paces of heartbeats and dominating thoughts, a distant, trusting voice that kept his faltering posture steady on the solid ground holding him firm against the raging storms he faced. A discovered memory that steered him away from the damning coldness threatening to encase him back into layers of black ice, a fathomless void.

Flashes of vibrant, symbolic colors of freedom and liberty guided him through a recourse of a paradox that seemed to lead him forefront into a moment of untainted and reserved pain.

* * *

-Flashback-

It was a standoff between two oppressive forces of sentiment and brutality. Captain Steven Rogers stood only a few feet away on the steel grated catwalk above planes of enforced glass; staring down at the Winter Soldier in an unyielding stance, his solid and statuesque body firm and overbearing; tension encompassed the air and his passive, stern blue eyes held an unbidden plea of the thousands of lives that were become destroyed within minutes if the fight meant no victory—HYDRA would reform the world, ash would paint the streets—no freedom—no humanity to believe in, just enslavement in the chains of new order.

 _Hell on earth._ Steve whispered under his breath. He leveled his unwavering stare down at the soul, he still believed was his friend, but he had to save Bucky- _no matter the cost_.

"Don't do this, Buck," his voice contained a stilled edge of urgency, but remain calm enough to arouse mercy from the wrathful glare of death staring back at him behind dark tresses of unkempt wolfish brown hair.

He breathed in his reservations, mustering the strength to face his guilt that purely dwelled in the azure irises of the Soviet assassin. He held Bucky's vicious gaze. "I don't want to fight you..."

Bucky drew out his combat blade, edges jagged to slice into flesh. His muscles lurched underneath his tactical uniform, and then he propelled with full, unstoppable momentum, charging at Steve with lethal hunger evident in his feral blue eyes. He was a killer-the murderous hunter ordered to finish his directive with no falter of hesitation in his thundering boot steps.

Steve was quick with response time, he tossed his shield, aiming it Bucky with direct precision to take him out cold; but the enhanced assassin was fast, drawing his guns and firing the alloy at point-blank range. He pivoted with balletic movement, swift and intense, knocking the shield with his metal fist as he returned to Steve who advanced forward, crouching his massive body into a blocking stance as bullets created dinging noises off his shield.

Blinding flashes of discharging ammunition reflection in their feverish blue eyes as bodies clashed, teeth gritted and sweat poured. It was becoming a fight for their lives, no more attempts to balance emotions, just raw survival between to soldiers who denied the sense of defeat.

Steve felt his jaw pulse. His chest muscles constricted as his gums tingled with retrained numbness. He was fighting against the relentless force of Bucky's metal arm, holding his ground as viscous punches vibrated into his bones, while being effected by the searing betrayal that was left laden over his heart.

"Bucky," Steve tried again, more depth of desperate emotion residing in his breathless tone. His thoughts were subdued by weaves of compromising guilt. It was his fault—he should have been the one who received punishment, no his best friend. "Stop." He was committed to prevent Bucky from engaging ruthless assault."This isn't you...Buck."

The Winter Soldier clenched his thickly squared jaw, seething out his aggression. His blue eyes livid with malice—alerted contempt. Something dangerous became activated in his evolved system.

When Steve rammed his weight backwards from the catwalk, the Winter Soldier felt the charges of merciless power spike, the metal digits clutched the handle of his knife as glitches of untamable intent controlled his violent, demented movements; breath grew hot in his throat and blood melted on the fullness of his dormant lips.

He took a second to recalculate his initial attack on the acquired target (level six agent) ; once he found an exposed weakness, he lowered his stance, broad shoulders rolled and locked, armed spread apart: one hand gripping a knife, the other a loaded gun, and he charged directly at Steve, slashing his blade wildly into the air, while the super-soldier dodged every slice that was breadth away from his slacken jaw.

Another wicked slash of the knife, barely missed Steve's shoulder as he hunched a foot lower and side-stepped an inch away from the wielding blade; bolting upright Steve bashed the shield into the Winter's Soldier's face, knocking him off balance. Time was limited. So much was at stake. He needed to focus on the mission, to stop Project Insight from launching a full assault of laser canons on the targeted population already logged for termination :one mistake would result collapsing in the amiss of failure—seemingly endless devastation.

His gloved hand was reaching to place the tampered chip into the console; he couldn't afford to turn a blind eye; the stench of the sweat and leakage of outpouring jet blood hazed his senses, and yet Steve felt his leader born strength, the merging heat to fight against the searing coldness shrouding over him. Sensing body heat, Steve automatically twisted around in second his glistening blue eyes caught the sheen of blade; Steve gripped Bucky's flesh shoulder, forcing HYDRA's brainwashed asset to relent a step back; pain unfolded in his chest as tried to avert his stare away from his friend's contorting face of dark, morbid lust to execute his -final- mission.

"Bucky..." Steve breathed, strained and ragged. His trust in Bucky was instinctual-unbroken-and he always trusted his gut instincts. Sure, it was a long shot to take a dire risk, but he needed to restore the damage that surfaced in his friend's mind. The mere mention of his true name was enough for The Winter Soldier's blue eyes to glare up at Steve with the malice of an angry predator; an unshakeable appetite burned inside of him that could only be sated with the blood of his lifeless enemy on his hands. That's what he had been made for—that was the only desire wafting through his obedient husk.

Steve swallowed back the bulk of remorse inside as he looked at his rabid opponent whose senses were fogged as he swam in a sea of red. Reason would not draw Bucky back—not right now. Steve could not afford to hold back with him—not when the lives of millions hung in the balance. He had to take him down. Preparing for Winter Soldier's next assault, Steve held his shield at the ready and engaged him, this time with an offensive streak. The sharp whoosh of a knife cutting air was drowned out by the metallic clang of metal colliding with metal as Captain America and The Winter Soldier traded blows between knife and shield—dodging and weaving through each avoided collision with the grace and speed of dancers attuned to the same song.

That song was combat.

When it became clear a hand-to-hand assault would not gain an advantage between the evenly matched opponents, The Winter Soldier spun on his feet, building momentum to deliver a devastating roundhouse kick. Steve dodged the blow with equal efficiency, ducking low and using his calf to block a follow-up leg sweep Bucky aimed at him.

His mind insanely running fast, Steve raised his shield in time to block a right hook aimed for his head. The momentum of his blocked attack forced Bucky to stagger back a number of steps; the opening was enough time for Steve to secure the terminal and install the data chips to the system override.

Bucky was at him again not a moment later, swinging his knife for Steve's throat. Not missing a beat, Steve parried the attack with his shield and continued his barrage with The Winter Soldier until both soldiers became locked in a test of strength. The edge of Steve's shield hovered a breath from Bucky's face while the knife leered towards the star-emblem on Steve's chest. Strenuous effort clear and rampant across Steve's sweat glistened features while a deadly calm glared back at him from baleful eyes.

The cold absence in those eyes shook Steve with the realization he was close to losing focus. Only one data chip had been replaced; there were still more that needed to be handled. Steve gritted his teeth as the metallic plates to Bucky's cybernetic arm shifted beneath the struggle. Eager to end this tug of war, Steve reached down and pulled the knife free of The Winter Soldier's grip, surprising him. Steve wasted no time and struck with a thunderous front kick to the torso, sending Bucky stumbling back on his feet. Gaining a nick of time, Steve rushed to replace the next data chip to the system override only to have The Winter Soldier's cybernetic fist collide with his shield he raised it in time to deflect the blow.

'I can't keep this up,' Steve realized with a grunt of frustration. Bucky didn't need to stop him to succeed, he just needed to keep him distracted long enough for the Helicarriers to take aim and fire their wrath on Hydra's targets. '…I have to take the fight to him…I'm sorry, Bucky.' Steve thought ruefully, 'I can't let these people die. I won't.' Filled with resolve, Steve threw his weight into The Winter Soldier with newfound strength and shoved him back, away from the override terminal. The Winter Soldier, as if sensing the change in tactic from his opponent, prepared himself for his onslaught.

Steve swung his shield and his fist at Bucky with the speed and ferocity of a cornered animal finally lashing out. Winter Soldier dodged the swings with minimal struggle however as Steve's determination grew, his opponent resolved to use his cybernetic limb to parry the rapid swings.

At this point, Steve felt as though his movements had fallen into auto-pilot mode, his thoughts laid rest while bodily instinct took over. Winter Soldier's body trembled, his shoulders shaking as his breathing became heavy and incensed—dreadful proof to his mounting anger. He sought to turn the tide back in his favor by seizing Captain America's throat, but as quickly as his hand found purchase, Steve swatted it away then swung his own fist and struck Bucky's face hard enough to force him back.

Winter Soldier's deadly calm shattered like fragile glass.

His livid blue eyes snapped towards Steve, bloodthirsty and raging, he charged his opponent with a roar of aggression; tackling him against the rail of the catwalk hard enough to propel them both over the edge and down into the edge of a sloped platform. Steve felt his pulse quicken with alarm as the data chip slipped from his grasp and slid down towards the edge behind Bucky. 'No…' Steeling himself, Steve pulled himself back to his feet as he watched Bucky do the same.

Steve fleeting looked for his shield which had disappeared out of view. The two soldiers charged each other and collided once again, resuming their frustratingly matched skirmish; the balance of power yet to fall into either's favor within the glass chamber beneath the hull of the helicarrier. Below them they could see the landing base outside the Triskelion hundreds of feet below. The daunting view posed no concern to the battling titans. Bucky struck Steve with a sudden back-hand, the impact forced Steve backwards into the air headed down.

Steve landed without missing a beat, sliding towards the edge he reached and picked up the fallen data chip on his way down. Seeing this, Bucky, without thought, slid down after him. Steve felt a prickle of unease at the situation. Bucky—The Winter Soldier—was relentless and seemingly insurmountable in combat; Steve couldn't recall ever fighting a more challenging opponent in his life. Bucky stood to his feet in front of Steve who had barely a moment to regain his breath before Bucky resumed his assault; his efforts proven once again foiling as he forces Steve to drop the data chip down to the glass surface of the lower chamber.

Steve felt his frustration finally begin to settle in. Time was running out—fast. Clenching his teeth, he struck Bucky hard across the face with a driving elbow that knocked him backwards in a daze. Eager to put more distance between them, Steve followed up with a kick to Bucky's ankle; forcing his feet out from under him. A fleeting sense of relief filled Steve as he watched his unyielding opponent fall over the edge.

'Move now, Rogers. Fast!' He jumped down onto the glass of the lower chamber, his sights set on the data chip lying across from him. The path ahead seemed clear as he rushed over to recover it and complete his mission. Dread percolated in his veins the moment he felt a brush of air across the back of his neck that exploded into a winding pain, derailing him from his course. Steve fell hard to the ground, only having a moment to register that his shield had been returned to him by Bucky in the most unexpected and painful way possible. His swimming vision caught sight of Bucky moving in on his position.

He watched as Winter Soldier recovered his lost pistol that had fallen down here from the start of their confrontation. 'Thank God he threw this to me first,' Steve realized as he lifted his shield in front of him in time to protect himself from the hail of bullets being fired at him. 'He just doesn't quit…he never did.' Steve held his position until the click of an empty cartridge rang throughout their battleground made of glass. He stood tall and threw his shield back at Bucky, continuing their violent game of Frisbee. Bucky used his cybernetic arm to angrily swat the vibranium disc off from its trajectory. Reaching back, he pulled another knife from his arsenal and moved in on his target.

Steve prepared himself for Bucky's next attack. He dodged the first swing meant to slit his throat, but as he attempted to block and counter the second thrust did Bucky finally gain the upper hand; the Hydra assassin grasped secured both his hands around his weapon and forced his weight against Steve's. The blade found its purchase into the shoulder, greeted expectantly by the sharp cry of pain from Steve's throat. Captain America felt his blood running both hot and cold around the steel lodged into his shoulder, his pulse pounded wildly in his ears with a deafening tempo.

He allowed it all to sink in and process for a second before he forced his body to retaliate against the assault being waged against it. He threaded his fingers around Bucky's shoulder then threw his head against Bucky's repeatedly. Bucky broke the series of head-butts with a punch to Steve's wounded shoulder, throwing him aside. The super-soldier used the opportunity to pull the knife free from shoulder, grimacing at the flow of crimson that stained his old uniform. Once he looked for Bucky did Steve's blood run colder than the when he had been stabbed.

Bucky was making a move for the data chip…

'No…' Steve had been convinced that Bucky's mission was merely to eliminate him from Hydra's playing field, but now he realized just how far Hydra had ordered him to go. 'Don't do this Buck…' Having no other choice, Steve ignored the pain in his arm and rushed in to stop Bucky before he could destroy the data chip—the only hope at stopping Project Insight from killing millions. One of Steve's hand seized Bucky's wrist to stop him from destroying the chip while the other wrapped itself around Bucky's throat. Until now, Steve had fought Bucky with the strength and discipline of a soldier; a martial artist—but as time and injury began to take its toll, the super-soldier found relied on his strength and aggression to turn the tables.

Despite his injury, Steve lifted Bucky up off the floor and held up in a chokehold; the pain in his arm only outmatched by the one in his soul as he watched his friend's painful looks as he hung at his mercy. Bucky still held the data chip tightly in his hand, almost as if it were welded to him. He still wouldn't give up—not that Steve expected him to. But Steve…he couldn't do this anymore; this fight needed to end. Gritting his teeth, Steve jerked Bucky violently back down to the floor, and trapped Bucky's arm while restraining him against the floor at the same time.

"Drop it, Buck!" Steve demanded. Bucky hissed like a cornered animal as he tried to lash out with one arm against his captor. Steve did his best to block out the anguish he felt from within knowing that it was him putting Bucky through all this physical agony; reminding himself that Bucky wasn't himself and he needed to be stopped even if it meant at these extremes. "DROP IT!" Steve demanded, once more, watching Bucky's hand clench around the data chip.

Steve's heart sank into his stomach. All it would take was one squeeze of his hand for Bucky to end the lives and hope for millions. The rage and desperation boiling inside of him began to come to a head as Steve resolved himself to what he needed to do. It was both the most logical and most difficult thing he needed to do. Squaring his jaw, Steve twisted and listened to the sickening snap followed closely by the howl of agony erupting from Bucky's scowling lips. It was as if a knife had been rammed into Steve's very heart. He closed his eyes, steeling himself with fiery determination to end this fight—to end both of their pains of fighting each other.

Using his strength, Steve forced himself onto his back, pulling Bucky with him until he had his arm secured tightly around his friend's neck—holding him close in a rear-naked chokehold that reminded him of their Brooklyn days grappling with bullies. As expected, Bucky did his utmost to break free of the hold, using the power in his cybernetic arm to help him gain some slack; but Steve was prepared for this as he wrapped his left leg around the metallic limb and held it restrained.

Still Bucky twitched and groaned in both pain and bubbling anger that slowly but surely began to reside. Steve could feel his pulse beginning to relax. He restrained the tears in his eyes; anger, pain, worry, remorse—a tumultuous of emotions rushed through him as he felt Bucky slowly slip into blissful unconsciousness. The data chip slipped through Bucky's fingers—undamaged.

'I'm sorry, Buck, but you left me no choice...' Steve sniffed in dismay, releasing his friend's weight. His blood brother who had fought with the malice of an savage animal but carried the strength and discipline of a machine. What little humanity remained within him was buried beneath sheets of blue ice brutality reflecting back at Steve. He would catch a rare glimmer beneath it, but it was always brief; and yet it gave him hope.

* * *

 _Captain America._ He thought. None of it bore recognition, but the name kept his addled mind focused on something true that went much deeper, as images of another man devoured the splotches of red coating his vision. Unanswerable, he trudged further down a narrow alley way, grazing his titanium alloy shoulder plates against the brickwork. Paces of his heart sped up, and blood circulated in his veins.

Deciding to carry his tainted grief further into the darkness, the Winter Soldier stalked in fervent, calculated strides, his fierce pale azure eyes searching for threats. He was marked as ineffective -a rogue asset that would soon be retired by another agent who carried out the same pledge of obedience to HYDRA's will.

His sculpted mass of bulk of raw and unrivaled power was fading underneath ratty layers of clothing he had managed to obtain from card boxes piled in front of the downtown mission.

He didn't consider himself homeless because he truly couldn't grasp what the word "home" meant. Roaming the dim lightened streets had become a struggle to preserve the measures of diminished humanity that lingered beyond the shadows and indomitable coldness surging in his veins.

The Winter Soldier was deemed to become forgotten, his identity had been purged by the sessions of extraction he was forced to endure when endless waves of merciless static devoured his thoughts. His head was always clamped inside a machine, draining the life out of him, frying his veins until blood felt like ash.

_'When you wake from your laden slumber, Winter, the world will be different... And time will seem like a fractured memory.'_

Fighting against the harsh lashes of frigid wind shuttering through his bones, the Winter Soldier stumbled to regain steady balance, shavings of ice cracked under the weight of his tactical boots. He paused to suppress the deluges of recollection bashing against his skull, his thoughts bled with gory visages of his past; lifeless piles of bodies that he was ordered to execute in the shadows. The nightmares never seemed to fade away.

A small trek of blood dripped from his chapped lips; he could taste the sourness of remorse, but couldn't register the unfamiliar sensations to breathe in the cold rush of air. It was vague attachment to humanity, a sense that he was forced to bury in the ice when the pulses of the machine activated and images of the world that he had seen during his missions buzzed into intense static.

_...The man on the bridge..._

His heartbeat had been frozen. There was no pulse rippling in his veins, just the searing coldness that encased over bone and flesh. He was distant to his memories, fighting a constant prick of wariness. The light in his drifting soul had been extinguished by the enfolding darkness -the vacant ambiance of death. He felt utterly hollow inside, his bones were frozen as his true existence faded into a white void of severe torment.

The Winter Soldier remade to serve as a brutal reminder of death, a condemned prisoner longing for the taste of freedom. Time betrayed him, twisting and extracting his soul into diminished form of a ghost drifting through the icy divides. The man buried underneath the hollow, murderous semblance wanted liberation from the endless visages of red and black ash, was longer the mission : he truly accepted his fate, and he allowed unbidden guilt to slice through his scarred heart like a knife.

Moving through the sables of darkness in systematical paces, he tucked his metal hand into the pocket of his faded jeans, and narrowed his pale azure eyes ashamedly down at the clusters of snow building against dent sides of cluttered trash cans. Staring blankly into the hollow spaces of unoccupied buildings, felt like a constant revulsion towards the path they had forced him onto with a violent push of control: submission.

He knew that countable risks were too high; scattered thoughts give him no sense of reason to obey the rancid urges pulsing in his cold veins. Everything became unhinged as his intimating presence trudged pass the remnants of urban decay, abandonment buildings and cluttered spaces.

He was alone on his mission.

There was no objective to follow, just laborious instinct and absent thralls of distant memory. It was indecision gravitating him closer to familiar area that emerged from the recesses of his demented mind.

He remembered those harrowing moments of utter rage coursing in his veins, unquenchable thirst to eradicate his laden target pinned underneath the weight of his body, but an abominable voice wavered through the firelight haze of destruction, and allowed him to reclaim a piece of humanity that hadn't been extricate by shards of ice.

* * *

-Flashback-

Once he had awoken from the short yet liberating bliss of slumber, the first thing Winter Soldier had felt was the heat; then there was the pain of a crushing weight resting across his torso. Looking down, he grimaced at the sight of a metal beam pinning him against the floor. Fire and ruin surrounded him, its grip tightening like a knot, reducing the glass chamber to a pile of flaming scrap. There was no sign of the target he had been ordered to eliminate. A flicker of dissatisfaction stirred inside of him as he considered the possibility of the target—the one called "Captain America"—having escaped this destruction he brought upon the helicarriers while leaving him to die.

The helicarriers…the helicarriers!

'I have failed…' The thought stirred familiar rueful emotions inside of him: fear and dread. Accompanying those emotions were a litany of painful memories; memories of electroshocks, needles and punishing fists that he would endure each time he failed his objective. 'I have to endure. Each failure; each punishment is a lesson learned.' The cold ideology rushed through his thoughts as if they were an encoded message that followed standard procedure. 'Endure and oblige; I will be rewarded… Hail Hy—' his thoughts were interrupted as he listened to a low-pitched groan coming from his far right.

He made to rise up off the floor, utilizing the summation of his enhanced strength to lift the crushing object off of his body, but he could not gain slack with his good arm pinned. A Russian curse brushed past his tightly pinched lips once he noticed the source of the noise. It was Captain America—the super-soldier and terrorist he had been ordered to purge from Hydra's new world. His target, his enemy his…. 'Why is he still here?' The Winter Soldier could not explain why but the sight of the red, white and blue clad soldier spurred a strange sense of relief as well as rage inside of him. 'This is all his fault.'

His steely azure orbs glared up at his battered and bloodied enemy who despite being pummeled and shot repeatedly still managed to carry himself with great strength and resolve. It was…familiar as well as disconcerting. 'I know him…' The thought tickled the back of his mind as it had been since they crossed paths today; he had ignored it as he had been ordered to, but like an itch that would not stop festering until it had been scratched, it continued to bother him. 'Who are you…'

He narrowed his eyes as he watched Captain America draw nearer to him. 'Perhaps he intends to finish me…' He thought expectantly; it was the most logical move for him to make. His mission was successful, his enemy now helpless—now would be the time to claim sure victory.

The HYDRA assassin squared his jaw, sending a defiant glare Captain America's way... 'What is he doing?' His hardened exterior crumpled into confusion as he watched his enemy struggle to lift the construct off of him. 'Fool,' he thought sourly. Did he expect to take him captive?'

Winter Soldier watched Steve with distrustful eyes. Slowly, but surely, he felt the crushing weight on his body begin to withdraw due to the impressive might of the Captain. The Hydra assassin said nothing as he pulled himself out from beneath the crushing metal; his condemning stare never leaving his target. Almost instantly, he felt his senses assaulted by the weight of his injuries. He could feel the blackened bruises beneath; arduous and painful with each in-take of air. And then there was a white hot inferno raging at his right side where his broken flesh arm hung limply. In his present condition, Captain America's victory over him would be certain.

Bitter seconds passed and no effort for termination had been made.

"You know me," The Captain uttered, his tone so sure it prickled Winter Soldier's denying exterior as it did before. This time instead of feeling cold indifference, the assassin felt frustration. His cybernetic fist coiled into a vengeful fist that lashed out across the Captain's face.

"No, I don't!" He cried, leveling his target back to the floor. If he could succeed in eliminating him; then he would not have failed his mission entirely. He may yet survive and endure. 'Why is he so familiar…' He closed his eyes tightly, fighting against the imbalance that had threatened to distract him. "Yes…you do," came The Captain's infuriating rebuttal as he shifted back onto his feet. His will to reach out every bit as strong as his might. 'Why isn't he fighting back?' The question was troubling; as was the throbbing ache at the corner of Winter Soldier's subconscious that compelled him to give the matter more thought—to listen and to remember. 'Don't! You're the Fist of Hydra. He's trying to trick you…'

"Bucky…You've known me your whole life," The Captain entreated—his voice so earnest; so painstakingly familiar, the Winter Soldier wanted nothing more for him to stop—to just leave—to run. 'That name again…Bucky'. It felt like a match igniting a fuse that would certainly lead to his ruin…and yet, there was something about the name that felt warm—that felt true—that felt…tragic. An emptiness grew within him, he was painfully aware of its vastness that could swallow him the longer he dwelled on it. 'I'm not… stop… Don't. NO!' He lashed out again at the Captain with a vicious backhand; determined to stop his humbling words the only way he knew how.

'Are you so dumb not to run away from this fight—', his breath hitched in his throat. At the back of his mind, the itch intensified as if there were something—or someone-struggling against a wall—a barrier –erected there long ago by deceiving hands to keep him under control. What lingered on the opposite side scratched and clawed at the wall of obedience and oblivion to be free—be remembered. 'What is happening to me?' Fear and unease gripped him from the inside out. 'Fight on, soldier; he's lying to you!'

"Your name is James…Buchanan…Barnes—" The Captain continued, unwavering, only to be struck again, harder than before.

"SHUT UP!" Winter Soldier seethed in a fierce roar, the force of his swing sending him down to his knee, and the Captain down across the deteriorating glass floor. Around them the glass of the chamber began to crack, howling winds shook the two battered soldiers who both struggled to their feet; their faces washed with blood, soot and sweat—neither of them cared nor showed fear. The Captain discarded his helmet, his azure blue orbs meeting an identical pair with… remorse.

"I'm not gonna to pick a fight with you, Buck…" In an act that befuddled and enraged The Winter Soldier, Captain America discarded his shield—his emblem—letting it slip through the hole in the glass and into the great drop hundreds of feet down. Blood dripped over his busted lip, and breathed seemed ragged. He chanced a mirroring stare, benevolence evident in his watery beseeching eyes, blurring in the disarray. It was painful to wheeze out an effective, but certain refusal not the back down from the fight.

The stabbing realization pierced through Steve's heart. He was responsible for turning Bucky into a mechanical, ravaging monster because he failed to reach out for Bucky's marred hand in that heart rendering moment when the brotherly smile faded into a look of acceptance and dread.

He wasn't close enough, his fingers couldn't reach, and the ice was relenting. Bucky fell, screams echoed and tears stung. He had a second chance to make it right again, to finally reach out to and pull his friend close to him like a life line. Every ounce of his blood heated with an aching promise that crippled his spirit. "You're my friend…I would never hurt you."

'You do know him…' A voice breached his inner wall in a broken whisper, its impact causing a shiver to run through him, his stomach twisted into knots and his breathing became heavy. 'Stop talking. Stop thinking…Stop…' the somewhat louder and obedient voice within him chided. Winter Soldier glared at the Captain, frustrated and confused by his willingness to drop his guard and continue with this charade that gnawed at him, made him question himself—made him ask questions period; when all he wished to do was silence its source.

His frustration reaching its apex, the Winter Soldier snarled as he tackled his opponent down to the floor close to the edge of a gaping hole in the surface. "You don't know me!" He hissed. Blood tainted his tongue. Pain became incessant as the rigid force of his metal fist pounded into face of his laden, rivaled opponent.

It grew into a brutal and unforgiving melee, the Winter Soldier's corrupted vicious power was unstable as he rammed all reservations of aggression into Steve's jaw; knocking the blonde soldier's head back with a merciless jerk.

Steve didn't fight back, he allowed the HYDRA assassin to unleash every ounce of his enhanced strength making Steve's chiseled features become littered with discolored bruises and oozing red gashes; lines of blood slicked over his sculpted cheekbones and his bottom lip split open in the wake of cold metal scraping over his swollen flesh—Steve willingly accepted the unrelenting punishment jostling through his bones.

The world bled away, the Winter Soldier's menacing face was parallel to Steve, his livid blue eyes revealed glimmers of shredded remains of human existence, but there was a hint of hesitation that conveyed over his grimacing expression, almost remnants of a struggle that riddled Steve's heart with the utmost of agony.

Sweat and tears stung in his eyes, and lips broke apart, drawing out a wheezing breath of submission as the metal dug into his cheek. Steve coughed up a spray of blood and the air in his rattled lungs sucked against his battered ribs as he tried with all measures of anguish to reach out to the man that was trapped behind those cold, detached eyes.

"Bucky...Please stop this..." His vision was blurred as his eyelid swelled and the blemished flesh of his skin bloated, all that veiled his sight was a haze of pulsing red. Another exhaling rasp tore from his raw throat. Somehow, despite the intrusion of pain barraging through his leaden body, Steve persisted, not yielding to the guilt scraping against the exterior of his heart. "This isn't you, Buck."

"Stop calling me that!" Winter Soldier seethed, a shattering edge in his aggressive tone. Images flashed before his eyes, too fast and blurred to make out. His nerve felt challenged and it only served to aggravate him back into ravenous focus.

"You're my mission…" He growled in a low, abrasive voice, as he continued to pummel his opponent with his metal fist. "YOU'RE. MY. MISSION!" His tone grew more desperate—more emotional and heavy—with each word and fist that connected in sync.

His hands were shaking as he raised his fist; determined and hesitant to put an end to it all—faster than the looming destruction that would soon consume them aboard this falling ship.

He gazed down at the Captain's swollen and blooded face, ignoring the desperate cry coming from the back of the wall in his mind that grew louder and stronger now with each breath he took. He was unaware of a wetness coating his eyes, but he felt his heart pumping into dangerous overdrive against his chest so fast he could feel the flooding pulse clog his ears. The sight of his devastated and beaten opponent widened the growing pit in his roiling stomach; tightness seized his chest—he felt like he was suffocating.

"Then finish it…" The Captain…Steve drew out a weak pitch of his straining voice, his azure eyes dimming with impending exhaustion. His soul had disengaged to surrender.

Pain was accelerating through his veins, and blood aimlessly fell over his split lip, as he watched life flicker inside the metallic depth of desensitize blue eyes—a confirmation that Bucky still existed under the visage of HYDRA's menacing phantom.

Gripping onto his inner reserves of strength, Steve regarded the distorted shadow of his best friend with all measures of unyielding sincerity gleaming in his blurring eyes. A semblance of agony splayed over his chiseled, bloodied face. He choked up a steady, defiant breath that carried an unbreakable promise, forged by blood, tears and intrepid Brooklyn spirit. Tears streaked over the gashes and welts that Bucky's crushing fist had pounded into a vulnerable layer of skin.

At first, Steve stared into the sinister, metallic gaze of fatal rage, in those vicious and unpredictable moments of balancing power and will; he gave Bucky a permissive chance for a redemption. "...because I'm with you till the end of the line."

The wall shattered within. Winter Soldier felt his world come undone.

* * *

_'What have I done?'_

With the coldness spiking in his veins, Bucky listlessly carried onward, searching for an escape out of the delirium of endless torment. He didn't know what direction to follow; every nightmarish, maniacal image of his stolen past took possession of his rewired mind; dark silhouettes of lifeless bodies sprawled on a canvas of blood and the potent stench of extracted gunpowder.

He didn't deserve to find peace-reverence- from the thralls of ravaging pain that seemed to split his reconciling heart open when torrents of savage impulses controlled the mortal sentiment he tried to harbor back. All he could do was allow the untainted, corrosive memories of unwarranted sentiment that would guide his passive spirit to where he needed to be.

Underneath the impassive exterior, Bucky needed to feel the embrace of security. He needed a friend to stop him from falling, to hold on to him and raise him up in the amidst of surviving in the hordes of darkness, while gathering pieces of a shattered reflection; it was the only innate act of compliance that kept his fueling defiance stable enough to disentangled out of weaves from his tantalized programming.

Breathing in a lungful of frigid air, the assassin staggered with faltering boot steps, inexplicably wandering closer to place that offered sanctuary for a wayward ghost in search of peace from the unforgiving, corrupted world, he was done running.

_'Is this home?'_


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Emergence_

_{Part 2}_

* * *

The view of a calm and serene snowfall through the quiet night was a comfort to Steve as he moved silently through a winding path, across the threshold of the Green-Wood cemetery. His measure of calm wavered in place of sorrow with each step he now took. If he hadn't come here only a few weeks after first waking up in this new era, his last paid visit to this place would have been decades—a life time ago. It was a long period of absence that carved a fissure of guilt inside of him. 'Mom…dad, I'm sorry I don't come to visit often, I haven't been the son…nor friend I should be.' The remorse, if anything, was salt rubbed into an old wound whenever he thought of this place.

Over the last few months since he and Sam had discovered leads that put them onto a fresh trail, Steve had been concerned that he might be lead astray; that Bucky would always be too far from his reach. When he realized the mementos left behind were indicators of a meeting place Bucky wanted to lead him to, Steve became both puzzled and hopeful. Sam was quick to understand that the rest of this search he would have to conduct on his own if Bucky truly wanted to meet with him.

A crushing weight Steve had felt since discovering his friend was the infamous Winter Soldier, had been lifted the more he began to believe that his friend—the good man he knew—still existed somewhere inside the confused and tormented assassin. When he first realized where the last clue Bucky had left behind for him would indicate their meeting place, Steve, for the first time since beginning this search for the ghost of his best friend, became timid and hesitant.

Green-Wood cemetery was a spot where both his and Bucky's lives had been changed forever when they laid their parents into the ground. Joseph Rogers had passed on first; leaving Steve without a father in his life and his mother with the burden of full responsibility in a country recovering from its economic decline. Winifred Barnes soon followed, leaving Bucky without the gentle comfort a mother could provide. It wasn't long before both Sarah Rogers and George Barnes followed—leaving their children behind to fend for themselves; but not alone—never, for their bonds of friendship could only endure and they had transcended into something greater than friends—they became brothers; family.

Steve paused for a moment as he stood still beneath the shadow of a withered tree, and took a moment to survey his surroundings. The sheets of snow glistened and glowed brilliantly beneath the haloed moonlight; its essence pure and untouched unlike the trail of footfalls he'd left from behind. No other visible footprints could be seen; his initial assessment was that he was the only one here. Despite evidence of the fact, he wouldn't relax his guard as he decided to proceed further; his footsteps unconsciously taking him deeper across a field of trees and misshapen gravestones towards a familiar spot.

Despite being light on his feet, the deafening silence was disturbed by the soft crunching of snow beneath his boots and the whistle of wind brushing through the air. Steve kept his guard up, knowing that his meeting could very well turn out to be the opposite of what he had hoped for. Bucky's present state of mind was like a raging storm that could shift and lash in any given direction. Steve didn't come armed, or even dressed in his uniform despite Sam and Natasha's insistence. He'd instead come in plain jeans, boots and a coat with a Dodgers cap over his head. It was Steve Rogers that came to this meeting, Steve Rogers that had been called here; not Captain America.

After minutes of wandering, Steve paused as he took in the snow covered grove in front of him where a set of boot prints—not his own—were visible in the distributed snow.

"Bucky?" He called out tentatively, his tone measured with caution but without hostility. He began following the trail, his heartbeat increasing in its tempo with each step taken forward. The foot prints in the snow became heavier as they lead up a slope. "Bucky?" He called once more, his enhanced hearing causing his ears to perk once he caught the noise of what he deduced as soft sniffling and coughing—or was it sobs?

He moved further, his fierce azure eyes catching the large dark shape hunched over a familiar gravestone that he had paid respects to not too long ago. The figure seated on his knees in front of the stone had his hands—one gloved and the other metallic—tracing the engraved letters off of the stone with reverence and sorrow.

Steve swallowed softly, his heart now hammering loudly in his ears as he licked his lips and called out softly to darkness—his voice wavering in solace.. "Bucky…I'm here."

* * *

The urgent voice seemed absent, untraceable for a moment of relapse configuration. He didn't respond at first, the beckoning of that name was distant to his turbulent mind; everything had fallen into disarray, and the only accessible sentiment he allowed himself to cling to was the ambiance of shadow that devoured the crescents of light reflecting in his steely blue eyes. He wanted to remain unseen-omitted- from the impelling echoes that were lulling him to search in the predictable direction. Nothing seemed certain to grasp in those harrowing traces of vulnerability.

Feeling the raging torrents of heated blood pulse in his veins, Bucky's raw knuckles grew frigid and his muscles seized as he automatically reached for his tactical boot. The chrome alloy fingers bent and curled against a combat knife. He refused to become disarmed.

"Go away," he tried to resist the urge to seethe, but the feral timbre of his voice dipped into a harsh, graveled warning, his tiring eyes burned with fervent malice. He didn't trust his murderous intent, he spent days avoiding the possible reunion with the blond haired soldier dressed in vibrant, patriotic colors and amiable, brotherly azure eyes—the carbon visage of the virtuous and unyielding man who had reached out to take his hand as the demolished structures of S.H.I.E.L.D and HYDRA crumpled beneath them.

Steve...

With a savage effort to engage a lethal assault, Bucky had braced himself; gripping the knife, as the jagged edged blade quickly caught faint glints of the ominous moonlight shimmering over the mounds of undisturbed snow. Gritting his teeth, Bucky heaved out with enraged caution. "It's dangerous to be close to me..."

Steve kept a tentative yet non-invasive posture despite Bucky's hostility. His gaze moved fleetingly across the knife clutched in Bucky's gloved hand; the polished steel outshined by the alloy of his cybernetic fingers.

Despite the clear threat posed against him, Steve schooled his chiseled features however a tremor of unease moved through him as he noticed the familiar and daunting absence in Bucky's pale blue eyes.

The last time he had been on the receiving end of that empty stare, Bucky had nearly killed him on the helicarrier. It had taken weeks for Steve to fully recover from the concussion, the broken bones, the lacerations, and multiple gunshot and stab wounds.

The physical toll was manageable, but the emotional toll wasn't. Even now, Steve couldn't help the pang of sadness inside of him; the burden of guilt still as strong as the day he watched his best friend fall into the nothingness where his body was never found.

Steve believed in second chances, and he felt more than ready to embrace his the day he found out his friend was still alive, but just as before—he still needed saving. His determination revived, Steve took slow unwavering steps in Bucky's direction.

"I'm not afraid," Steve continued forward, cautiously, "and you don't have to be either." He assured, the broken pitch in his voice conveying the struggle within him. He ignored his timid nerves as he watched Bucky take a step backward in response, still holding his knife ready as if it were a life-line. Steve kept his distance as if he were dealing with a trapped wolf, knowing that a single wrong move would cause Bucky to lash out or flee.

Steve wanted neither; he couldn't afford to lose him to the wind again. He watched as Bucky's once wary and confused features morphed into a familiar angry scowl at his persistence. It was enough to give Steve pause in his steps, but he stood close to Bucky to meet him face-to-face. "You lead me here," Steve reminded him with gentle intent, "you wouldn't have done that unless you remembered who I am and why this place is important to the both of us."

Emboldened with relentless hostility, Bucky glared up at him with hollowed, soulless blue eyes; his breath was laced with exhaustion and his whiskered jaw throbbed into a tense clench. It was hard to process stray emotions, to accept familiar, automatic impulses to stand and embrace the blond haired soldier controlled his stiffen body as he tried to unravel memories. His brow furrowed into deep lines of anguish, and his right hand began quivering as he moved his fingers discreetly closer to Steve's boots. "I...I know you," he finally whispered in a dormant stammer, his voice strained and cracking. "You were little before and you needed me..."

Steve carefully nodded, daring to hope that his friend wasn't beyond his reach; that he hadn't spent the last year searching for him in vain while ignoring Natasha's warnings to stay away. The depths of his azure blue orbs glistened with unshed emotion. He did his utmost to maintain his composure, the lines on his brow raised in a beseeching manner.

"I needed a lot of things, back when I was just a lonely kid in Brooklyn," he began, swallowing back the heaviness in his throat, "but you gave me exactly what I needed when I had nothing else: friendship…family...courage."

His brow lifted while his mind became distant—swimming back to that fateful night at a back alley in Hell's Kitchen, decades ago, where a skinny blonde eleven-year old kid faced down a pack of bullies. It was a fight Steve had no intention of running from…and also no chance of winning. That was until a 12 year old kid with dark brown locks and bright blue eyes intervened and helped even the odds, saving him in more ways than one.

"You were there for me, Bucky, when I thought had nothing left," Steve confessed softly, his composure cracking under the maelstrom of decades of restrained emotion that had gone unloaded since the day Sarah Rogers had been laid to rest in this very place. "It's time I return the favor." Steve braved another step forward, tentatively reaching out and placing his steady hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"Don't touch me..." Bucky issued out a deformed gnarl, with a venomous bite evident in his laboured voice. Reacting to the compression of heat radiating from Steve's gloved finger tips, his tensed shoulder automatically jerked in the wake of familiar contact. At first, he couldn't bring his intent, murderous focus to stare up at Steve's angular, chiseled face. It was not ingrained in his programming to respond to aspects of human emotion. He had no ability to control the ravaging impulses of termination, not without a seductive to numb him before engaging a restless, brutal attack.

_'Remember your training. No mercy. Kill the target and walk away.'_

Darkness gripped him, clawing into the marrow of his hollowed bones as Bucky dismissed Steve's benevolent empathy, his throbbing head declined, kinked tresses of matted brown hair enswatched over his bedraggled features. His glacial eyes gained a violent glint when he aimed his deaden, absent stare back at the combat blade. Chrome knuckles clenched a warning as his bionic hand fastened into a balled fist.

The ruthlessness of HYDRA's necrotic ice phantom was becoming unleashed. He regarded Steve with a menacing glower, and once again ghosted out a feral warning for the unyielding Avenger to remove his imposing presence, before things got violent between them. He emitted out a vicious cluster of words. "You should've left me alone..."

Steve winced at Bucky's words; his own words failed him as he felt his throat close on him. His hands clenched into tight fists channeling his quiet discontent. He knew this wouldn't be easy. Over the decades, HYDRA didn't just take Bucky's name and his memories from him, they took away his ability to trust and feel compassion for others—they took away everything that made him Bucky…almost everything.

"I couldn't do that, Bucky," Steve exhaled, his façade of composure finally showing its cracks as a single tear betrayed him and spilled down the edge of his chiseled cheek. He smiled sadly, although it felt more like a grimace. "…I did that once before, and believe me; I wish that I hadn't…" The vast pit of guilt and sorrow inside of him burrowed ever deeper into his soul at the mere thought of the consequences of his ignorance that resulted in his best friend suffering for decades inside the grip of HYDRA. Despite his efforts to keep his emotions in check, Steve couldn't help them as they tumbled past his lips; words that he had wanted—needed to say—for so long."…I-If I had known that you were s-still alive…" he trembled, his hand digging into his pocket for something…

Feeling threatened under Steve's intense stare, Bucky collected his knife from the ground and aimed the blade directly at Steve, his feverish eyes became fixed on the vulnerable point of entry, locking onto the area that secured the Captain's heart.

Listening to the percussion of his erratic pulse, he panted, each hitched breath held an aching pitch of discomfort. He couldn't muster enough words to prevent the foreseen battle from happening. His gut tightened, and his heart wrenched as he felt utterly sick, almost ready to heave out the bile irking in his knotted stomach; pain from his disused limbs kept him restrained.

Still, the possessive impulse to kill seared through his bones, corrosive and torrid. He searched for a tranquil resolve, intently focusing on the distant glare of lamp posts surrounding the cemetery reflected in Steve's placid cerulean eyes as the blond haired soldier's calm demeanor bled away into a fractured, distraught grimace.

"Please go," Bucky choked out, but the strength in his voice was decamped. He scraped his raw knuckles against the ice encased grass, seething through gritted teeth as his lengthy mane sheathed over his slacken brow. His chest burned and froze with a solid swell of agony. "I don't want to hurt you."

The knife twisted against the contortion of his gloved fingers, and rush of adrenaline became the fuel to engage his reluctant attack. When Steve cautiously backed away a few steps, the Winter Soldier emerged from the icy depths of his demented instincts and he violently flung the knife into Steve's right calf, watching his tall opponent crash to his grounded level.

"I'm not here to fight you," Steve grunted, his blood racing with the familiar surge of adrenaline in the face of the certain yet also unpredictable danger in front of him. An unrelenting storm blazed between matching blue orbs as a brief tug-of-war ensued; their outer struggle reflected from the one within. Steve did his utmost to keep the lethal weapon at bay while at the same time keeping a non-retaliatory defense.

The determination in Bucky's eyes gave no indication that his words had been heard. Despite his own enhanced physical strength, Steve felt his weight sliding back along the snow; his rooted posture threatened by Bucky's unnatural might augmented by his cybernetic arm.

Snow continued its calm descent upon the two colossal forces as they struggled, all while the knife hung overhead between them. "We've fought together side-by-side for years. Stand down, Bucky!" Steve grunted with a stern voice, his patience wearing thin as frustration and indignation took over once he realized where their probable third round was taking place, "Snap out of it, soldier!" Steve gritted his teeth, his hands shook as he restrained himself from taking an offensive edge that would lead to nowhere. "Bucky…please…" Steve whispered imploringly, his eyes boring earnestly into the dilated abyss reflecting back at him.

"HYDRA has lied to you. Remember…you're not a weapon, you're free; free to choose to be who you really are. You're James Buchanan Barnes." Steve watched as the abyss shimmered with a familiar light. "Your parents were George and Winifred. You were THEIR little soldier…" Steve cried.

Bucky could barely register the urgent words. Blood pulsed in his ears, blocking out sound as he recalled his tactics of brutal training, levels of the beta serum elevated in his veins; but his maniacal instincts controlled his fused limbs as his alloy hand forced the knife to eclipse a daunting shadow over the jagged edge of Steve's clenched jaw. He seethed low and abrasive, his luminous eyes held murderous, and brutal intent when he tried to penetrate the jugular vein of his willful opponent.

When Steve caught the Russian accent laced in Bucky's detached, aphotic voice, his heart clenched and ripped open, the phantasmal gaze of HYDRA's subservient weapon bore into his skull, cutting through layers of unsettled guilt. "You speak of lies...Человек со щитом...Моя семья HYDRA."

Steve stared at him, his confidence unshaken by the biting words meant to assuage The Winter Soldier's certainty. "Если бы это было правдой ... зачем ты пришел сюда?" Steve spoke, surprising if not disquieting the former Hydra assassin as their grip remained locked over the blade held between them. "Why lead me here?" He pressed, unwaveringly. "It's because you deep down, you know this place is familiar…just like that gravestone next to you."

Bucky resisted the urge to snarl as his livid eyes went blazed with untamed rage; fighting to reclaim degenerative memories against the consuming static filtering in his addled brain. After emitting out a vicious pitch of breath, his gloved hand automatically shot upwards to ram into Steve's jaw bone. His wolfish, disheveled tresses obstructed his sharp vision, and his knuckles only grazed the blond's chilled flesh.

"The grave means nothing to me..." He fumed in a crazed jerk, gritting his teeth. His pupils enlarged and devoured leaving only small crescents of blue against flecks of moonlight. He stared darkly at Steve, no empathy was present in his deprived, paled stare. "You mean nothing to me..."

Steve blinked back the frown that threatened to cross his features; despite the fact Bucky was not himself in this moment, the sting of his words wasn't any less hurtful. His passive-aggressive approach did not waver despite The Winter Soldier's attempts to force him into another hostile encounter. It wasn't an option for Steve here and now, no matter how much Bucky thought he wanted to hurt him—or needed to. Raising his chin, Steve thickly swallowed back the ball of turmoil as his eyes stared forlornly into Bucky's before he gently reminded "If that's true…then why did you pull me from the lake? Why did you save my life that day?"

A flash of vivid and unraveling memory caused Bucky's self destructing heart to jolt. Hearing the measure of Steve's placating, intolerable, cacophonous words rattle in his brain. He swallowed down a clot of saliva; he cast a feverish glance at the knife held rigidly in the grip of his chrome digits. After a moment of relenting against uncertainty, he lowered the blade to his side, and receded back with a staggered footing of omission.

Lowering his head, Bucky distinctly remembered the trail of spilled, enhanced blood in his footprints on soggy earth; and the numbing pain of dislocated bones of his right arm and the vibrant colors of the American flag–his homeland. He stared at his metal hand, long and hard, fighting to reclaim the utmost of truth pulsing in his chilled veins. He saved Steve. It was his hand that pulled the blond soldier out of the watery fathoms and dragged him onto the edge of shore. Something controlled him in that defining moment. It wasn't a familiar reaction, but valid and parallel to his reservations of strength. The real Bucky Barnes had emerged from the icy depths of the Winter Soldier in those dire seconds of choice.

"No…" He gasped with a breathless seethe; dropping the knife at his boots, and paled at the moment of realization when he dared to look into Steve's piercing, and sincere blue eyes. His face fell into a disarray of uncontrolled emotions. He reached out a shaky hand, trying to extend it to the collar of Steve's leather jacket. He was using the super soldier as an anchor, holding onto apparitions of abated memories and crushing reproach of retained humanity.

Still, he resolved to keep his distance. The curved edges of his lips twitched into a disgruntled, abashed sulk. "I didn't mean to fall…To let go…" He conceived more recollections of the stolen past. "I didn't mean to hurt you…"

Steve smiled sadly yet at the same time was filled with mild relief, "It's not your fault, Bucky," a single tear brimmed in his eye, its seeped through the crack in his defenses and spilled down his cheek where it left a cold trail against the snowy wind. "…It's mine," he admitted staidly; invalid betrayal darkened across his face, and his eyelids closed, shutting away the blue depths of his guilt but leaving two streams of tears in his wake.

He slowly dipped his head, "I thought you had died…If I had known you survived the fall…" he exhaled dismally, his breath like fog in the wind as he let his words trail off. He knew this shouldn't be about him, but the words spilling from his mouth were like a cascading waterfall that couldn't be stopped—he needed Bucky to know how much it devastated him to know he had lost him—had failed him.

"I'm sorry, Bucky…I really am." Digging deep into his pockets, Steve felt the cool touch of metal against his fingertips. He opened his eyes, and stared at the only thing in the world he had left to remember his best friend by during those quiet nights where his guilt and loneliness prevailed over him. "I don't know how much you remember…or if you even want to. But what I do know is that this world doesn't need me half-as much I need you…"

Wiping his eyes, Steve braved a step forward as he watched Bucky fall to his knees in front of the gravestone where his pale blue eyes were once again examining the carved name upon the slab: "George Barnes; loving husband and father."

Crouching low, Steve sets the dog tags on the snow in front of Bucky, "You're more than my friend, Buck. You're my family. That will never change," he sniffed.

The sheen of the dog tags reflected in the fathoms of icy steel, vacant and feral, constant arises of torture. Acceptance of his state of health was another warranted punishment to endure; but his disconnected, insurmountable memories were launching full assault.

Biting down harshly at his lip; Bucky affixed a fervid glare onto the familiar chained necklace clutched in Steve's gloved hand.

Fragments of the past begun to register, bleeding into his skull. He gripped onto the barest thread of humanity. Fire speared in his chest, veins tightened into knots and heartbeat grew into frantic paces; as he searched for the leaden truth. Staring at the name engraved on the silver plates, Bucky wanted to unleash his agony; to finally break loose from the detriment ties and grasp onto humanity again.

Inhaling the frigid air that felt barbs against his lungs, Bucky cautiously made an effort; immediately reaching for the dangling chain. He unfastened his alloy fist and just grazed one of the plates with slide of his chrome finger. "James Buchanan Barnes..." he choked out, graveled and monotone, peering at the tarnished name. "These belonged to me..." His slacken brow creased under the untamed tresses of frayed hair. "I wore them under my uniform, didn't I?" he asked, distant and unsure if the solid evidence of his life was enough to retain the ice demon scraping underneath.

Steve's lips stretched into a modest smile; the bitter memories of loss were washed away by an accumulation of heroic and joyous recollections from a distant but not forgotten past. They were the ones he remembered with fondness as he had watched James Buchanan Barnes fight bravely and selfishly for his country, his allies and for the innocents who were suffering through the fog of war. "You wore them with pride…and with honor." Many didn't realize it then, but as the weight of so many lives depended on Captain America during the war, as they looked to him for hope and leadership… Steve had looked to Bucky for strength and for guidance. Bucky was Steve's own Captain America. "We fought side by side together for years… Do you remember?"

Bucky sunk his teeth hard into the plump flesh of his lip, receding memories flashed in the depth of his steely eyes. "I dunno," he raged, harshly, shaking his head against the rabid charge of cognitive dissonance. Mussed, drenched tresses veiled his distant gaze; darkening the clear azure with obstruction of riddled anguish.

His nerve endings surged and pierced his fervid veins, his broad jaw clenched into a hollowed constriction that Steve resolved the indention of the bone pushing against the bristled skin. The dense sculpt of his muscles jerked under the layers of his bedraggled clothing and a pace of tears retained in his eyes.

Feeling Steve's dismal blue eyes cast over him with burdens of hardened sorrow, Bucky slowly parted his coarse lips; drawing up a low, abrasive breath, that almost seemed to ghost out a remorseful conviction. "It doesn't feel like those tags belong to me..."

He traced his irate stare onto the familiar grave; the offset storm inside him had increased with intensively. Holding back the reserves of his bone-grinding contempt, Bucky tasted the slow trek of blood down his sore throat. His swollen lip pulsed and stung. "I have no honor to bury under a name."

As he listened to Bucky's rueful words, Steve's once smooth and placid brow furrowed into hard lines of discontent. 'How much of him did they wash away?' he wondered remorsefully. His fists clenched tightly at his sides; the adrenaline that swam in his veins burned from within as his mounting anger brimmed to a tipping point. A vexing exhale fell past his parted lips forming a brush of cool air against the wind. "That's not true, Bucky," the conviction in his firm tone never felt as potent as it did now. Despite the gravity of the resentment that he held for Hydra and the horrors they subjected Bucky to, he relaxed his posture and allowed his emotions to ebb into a stoic bubble.

"The world remembers James Buchanan Barnes' as the heroic kid from Brooklyn who fought for life, liberty and peace during one of its darkest points in history," Steve swallowed softly, "his courage and ultimate sacrifice helped to save the lives of millions." Steve smiled weakly, recalling the Wall of Valor he glimpsed inside the Triskellion and the collective new S.H.I.E.L.D agents that gathered in front of it, studying each name closely with respect and something else akin to reverence. "His memory inspired new generations of heroes in the decades to come…"

Emboldened, Steve gently lowered his hand and rested his palm across Bucky's coiled shoulder. "That's who you are, Bucky. That's what makes you honorable… Not the identity HYDRA forced on you."

"I'm not him," Bucky lashed in a low snarl, recoiling away from the captain's reverent touch. He glared dangerously at Steve; raw and tainted damage evident in his sallow blue eyes; coils of breath tightened in his chest. Finding himself enraged and addled, he tensely clenched his metal hand; every nerve frayed as blood rushed in his veins. A shock wave of pain jolted through his bones, he lurched with an automatic reflex whipping his elbow into Steve's knee as the blond faltered back. "You're lyin'." he chanted in a rabid pants of breath; fighting demoniac surge of baneful instincts.

He couldn't remember the contents of memory; lapses of degraded thoughts made his skull pound while his mind was being plagued with spiraling visages of blackness and macabre of bloody smears glistening on hollow ice. He felt the control of Zola gripping into his subconscious; anchoring him back into Antarctic submission.

_'Forget about old friends... You walk in darkness...You have no one to pull you out.'_

Remnants of distorted faces and nameless ghosts were slipping away, and he couldn't hold onto anamnesis-the embers of harbored defiance were dying. Images of his D.I.A certificate presented on the exhibit resurfaced in his mind. "James Barnes is dead..." he spoke in an wavering volume in cold lunacy. Blood pulsed violently in his veins, and he couldn't grapple the sentiment boring into him. "There's only the Winter Soldier left to finish the mission —THE MISSION!"

Steve clenched his jaw tightly as bridled anger pulsed inside of him. His inclination to respond just as heatedly tugged away at him in a desperate attempt to convince the confused, denying man in front of him that he wasn't this assassin Hydra forced him to be—not when he now had a choice. His patience strong as steel, however, he allowed his fist to uncurl and his posture relaxed against the surge of hostility standing against him. He remained firm however, as he actively shifted forward, his determined stare meeting the glacial pools glaring back at him.

"I don't believe that, and deep down I don't think you want to believe it either," Steve affirmed, "Hydra may have taken away your memories, but they didn't take away the things you fought for, the ones who care about you!" His voice shook, the maelstrom of emotion he kept at bay threatened to overtake him in this precarious moment. His head drooped and a shaky sigh escaped him; the moonlight caressed his pale complexion in the darkness blanketed by snow.

A fleeting moment passed before he raised his chin and met Bucky's timid stare now angled away from his.

Steve took in his disheveled appearance; growing stubble coated his strong jaw-line, the baseball cap covering his mane of wolfish dark locks that hung in front of his face, creating haunting shadows near his pale blue eyes. The button-flannel beneath a black leather jacket, and a pair of faded jeans. The visage of a wayward soul seeking answers that he could very well come to despise and grieve.

Steve felt his heart swell in realization. Before now, he had only considered the possibility of Bucky not remembering himself because he truly couldn't… But perhaps he was truly afraid to remember? If he did…how would he react, how would he live with the burden of so many dark and horrifying moments lingering from The Winter Soldier's murderous conquests? He couldn't let him feel that way, Bucky had to know that he wasn't alone in this.

"Look at me, Buck and say that you don't remember my face," Steve entreated, "It's me...Stevie Rogers, the kid who was always too stupid to run from a fight. I know you remember me, just like I know there is still good in you!"

"SHUT UP!" Bucky viciously unleashed a snarling pitch; bared his teeth into taut clench. He drove his metal fist into the frozen ground; feeling helpless and disturbed, he heaved out a straggled pant, trying to fight against red blotches hazed over his dampened eyes.

He was reaching a self-destructive state; degeneration of his subconscious reeled him back into the asylums of his torturous nightmares. Coldness aimlessly slithered down his numbing bones, and his tongue became tainted with metallic tang of warm blood.

Seething, Bucky tilted his head downward, straggly tresses raveled over his feverish and hollowed cheekbones, veiling over his menacing azure irises and concussions of pain knotted in his chest. He couldn't lift up his arm, somehow it seemed like his willpower was resisting the cybernetic weapon melded to his flesh; holding the alloy limb down with all reserves of bisected strength.

With all the effort he could manage, his weight lurched to the left, and then he took a hushed moment to retrace his severed memories. Bucky creased his clammy brow—the curved edges of his lips twitched as raptorial urges seized control the recesses of his deleterious thoughts; to bathe into the blood of his marked target- _the Freedom Fighter-_  to relish dominance over a power struggle obtaining his core.

Alexander Pierce ingrained hatred into him, torturing him to believe that Captain Rogers was an obstructive force against the succession of HYDRA's new era. He displayed no hints of empathy to the exhibited anguish that morphed into a dark cast over Steve's disgruntled chiseled face, he noticed briefly.

"I don't care who you are," he finally dismissed with a sharp dissonant growl, heated malice glowed in his depthless blue eyes. "Maybe I was friend to you in another life time," he continued. There was hint of wistful despair ghosting in his tensed-languished voice. As his breath morphed into grated sobs; Bucky felt coils of harrowing rage that rented inside him.

Jutting out his chin, Bucky bit out his spite."Now, I don't even know if I am alive...If this is just the afterlife. All these damned memories feel stolen and I know they're not mine to keep." He paused lifting his hand up before ramming it against the gravestone, cracking the marble that held the engraving of his father's name. He surrendered to gravity, pressed his grimacing lips into his scraped knee. "It feels like they belong to another dead soldier. That isn't me." He trailed off coldly.

"It's always been you, Buck," Steve interjected in the midst of the falling snow. His voice leveled, and his stare unmoving with hardness evident in his blue eyes. He cast a dismal gaze at the broken and deranged visage of his best friend. Changing his life was a risk he was willing to take to ensure that Bucky would reclaim his honor both as soldier and a great man. Blood would not be spent on disturbed mounds of snow. Although it seemed currently availing, he had to breathe through the programming and win Bucky's trust.

As Steve mustered enough measures of moral strength, he pressed his chapped lips into a taunt line, feeling the lancing pain splint through his chest. For a lapsing moment of stillness, he was recalled back into the void of his past; feeling the world collapsing into thickened ice and perpetual seemed unimaginable, but going deeper beyond the pain and torment was the only way to the cut off tentacles of HYDRA snaking around his friend.

"Listen to me, soldier, Zola played with your mind and did things that were unforgivable." Breath seized in his lungs, failing to empty. He was paralyzed, momentarily, guilt plunged deep into his gut, swirling as bile rose up his perched throat. "I should've been there to stop him, if I had just taken' another glance at his notes...then maybe I could've given you a fighting chance to beat his programming."

He wiped the tears off his cheek, gently, adjoining his promising lit eyes with the distressed glower of the brutalized assassin. He couldn't fathom the amount of pain Bucky endured...He had to stop using the emotional reserves Captain America, and fully strip the mantle of the unbeatable and fierce soldier that emerged out the green painted metal egg capsule; he had to become Steven Rogers, no vestiges of hellbent defiance, but the caring sentiment that remained leaden under the patriotic colored uniform.

Tentatively, Steve dragged his gloved finger into the snow, creating a dividing line. He lifted his head valiantly, finding solace in the passing veils of winter; looking into the feverish haze that obstructed the clearest shades of blue churned in Bucky's glacial eyes—a vivid apparition of unfulfilled reckoning. He felt the depth of his guilt becoming laden in his heart, as he searched for a second chance to redeem his mistakes.

"Now, I'm giving you a choice, Buck, you can take a stand with me against HYDRA, or surrender to the pain? Whatever you side you choose, I'll never stop fighting for you," he avowed.

Those profound words grew effective on him, Bucky attempted to fight against the unwarranted impulse to retreat back into the darkness, he automatically blanched in a lurching movement of uncontrolled distress. His exhausted body trembled as the impending recurrence of pain stabbed at his muscles. Steve had definitely reached him. Staring at the dog tags glinted in the snow, he regarded another glace at the chained necklace coldly, a vague sensation of agony wormed absently within him.

"You gotta fight for me," he managed to declare with a guttural, dissuading undertone; sentiment was gripping the dull ache in his bones when he attempted to prevent a sour trek of blood from solidifying in the breeze of chilled air. Accepting his condemned defeat seemed inevitable, despite the pain Bucky had someone vaguely familiar to his ravaged psyche that could lead him out of the hellish fray: he had Steve Rogers.

"You-you need to leave me." The grating words that emitted from his scratchy throat revealed unstable anguish and distant regret. He swallowed the last dregs of blood that his damaged body offered as waves of fevered heat blotched his heavy-lidded eyes. "I'm-I'm feelin' sick." he murmured his voice fading into a wheeze." I've gotta to go."

''Not gonna happen, Buck," Steve protested, a firm edge ghosted from his stiffened lips, unshed tears gathered in his determined eyes. "You took care of me even when I had nothin' to give." His throat locked up, and rasps of breath froze momentarily in his lungs. The unshakable faith he carried outweighed variants of his constricted doubts penetrating deeper. "I'm gonna to do the same for you...We'll put this on the ropes together."

Bucky gazed at him wearily; aggression and unease began to abate in his veins. He nodded without answering for a moment, lifting up his hand for Steve to willingly take. He held back the sting of tears. "Together," he droned in a strangled rasp, sounding almost free to express what bled through the ice of his heart. Steve didn't move, his body was situated in the moment of amending stigmas of his past, but he knew words couldn't numb the pain, even though he felt the torn wounds of his recovered heart slowly closing with each renewed memory.

Steve pulled out piece of tissue from his jacket's pocket, and carefully dabbed at the line of scarlet dripping over the cleft of Bucky's bristled chin. It was presage of resolute acceptance; nothing was lost, and the hope of restoring his friend never abandoned him. Regardless, of the dull senses and tender muscles, Steve found the means of peace within himself, and squeezed Bucky's shoulder with steadiness evident in his regarded crystalline eyes and deeply whispered in the wake of his transition. "Don't worry Buck, I'll get you fixed up in no time," he avowed, firmly shifting a assured glance at the grave. "I promise."

In a flash of a justified moment, Bucky felt his lips seizing into a genuine smile. "Stevie," he slurred, catching his breath. His searing gelid blue eyes stared up at the super-soldier with teary and restored clarity in his gaze."You're my brother too."

Feeling the listless ache dissolve in his heart, Steve smiled faintly, listening the echoes of the voice he never thought was possible to hear returning. He sniffled, and permitted his stowed emotions to release the final wash of tears. "Let's go home, Buck, you need to get out of the cold."

**The End.**

* * *

{Russian translations}

You speak of lies...Человек со щитом...Моя семья HYDRA. (The man with the shield ... My is family HYDRA)

Если бы это было правдой ... зачем ты пришел сюда? (If that were true…why did you come here?")


End file.
